Two of the more obscure words I’ve encountered are good words that should have a place in our vocabulary.
The first word to consider today is mulct. Mulct is a transitive verb that means to punish by a fine or by depriving of something. According to my dictionary it comes from the Latin word mulctare, which is a form of the word mulcta, which means a fine. It came to English in the late 15th century. But etymonline.com disagrees with my dictionary on two points: 1. it says it came to English from the French word mulcter (which came from the Latin mulctare), and 2. it could be Oscan or Samnite.
Now, I consider myself to be pretty good with history and geography, and I have never heard of Osco or Samnia. While I could do the easy thing and consult Wikipedia (there’s an entry there) I decided instead to go to ancientscripts.com and see what they say. It turns out that in pre-Roman times the Oscans “occupied the southern part of the Peninsula that was not settled by the Greeks.” According to sanniti.info (a site that receives support from the Ministero per I Beni e le Attivita Culturati) Osco was the language of the Samnites, not a place itself. Whoever they were, they used the Etruscan alphabet and with the hegemony of the Roman Empire lost their ethnic identity and culture. An example of Oscan writing was found at Pompeii.
The second word today is ukase, which is not Oscan for “your baggage”. In fact, it’s not Italian at all, it’s Russian. It originally referred to an imperial order or decree that was made by the Czar and came to English in 1729. (In case you’re wondering, the Russian monarch’s title is spelled differently due to different ways to transliterate the Cyrillic alphabet. The title originated as a word for Caesar, which is why I prefer the czar spelling to tsar or tzar, although I’m fine with csar, too, but that’s not as common. For much more on the subject, go to http://www.citizendia.org/Tsar.)
The word ukase (which I have seen wrongly spelled ukaze) has now come to mean any official decree, particularly (or especially as my dictionary says) one that is arbitrary. In other words, if you don’t like the decision, call it a ukase. (Calling it an arbitrary ukase might be more understood but would be redundant.)
Etymonline.com says that the word, while Russian, came to Russian from Old Church Slavonic or OCS (the earliest known Slavonic language, OCS dates from the 9th century and is used by Slavs in Bulgaria and Macedonia). The u- in OCS is an intensive prefix, and kazati means to order or show. Etymonline says that kazati is related to “the first element of Casimir” and that Casimir is a masculine proper name, from the Polish word Kazimir, which literally means “proclaimer of peace” or “preacher of peace.”
Italy, France, Samnia, Russia, Macedonia, Bulgaria, Poland. I feel like I've travelled the world and haven't left my chair!
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Why can't we all just get along?
Words come and go and come back again. Symbiosis is one of those words.
Originally used in English in the 1620s to refer to communal or social life, symbiosis somewhat disappeared from English common usage for centuries. Then, in 1877 a scientist named Dr. Brandt used the word in reference to describing a mutually beneficial association in the vegetable kingdom. (If you REALLY want to know everything you can about the concept of symbiosis, read www.drbilllong.com/More2006/Symbiosis.html. Dr. Long has an interesting take on the Wikipedia blurb giving six categories of symbiosis.) The word came from Middle Latin, which took it from the Greek word with the same spelling. It meant “a living together” in contradistinction to parasitism. Technically, then, symbiosis refers to a living together that is not parasitic in nature. It does not have negative implications, but need not have positive ones (win-win) either, as I’ve seen it used.
Dr. Long makes reference to the word symbiont, which I’d not heard before; its definition is “an organism living in a state of symbiosis”. It’s a good word to add to your vocabulary.
Synergy has a more active meaning to it than symbiosis. It means “combined or cooperative action or force.” In 1660 the word synergy came to English through Modern Latin (synergia) from Greek (synergia, which means “joint work, assistance, help.”) This common word has a less-common theological relative, synergism, which is actually three years older. Synergism, which now has a meaning of “the simultaneous action of separate agencies which, together, have greater total effect than the sum of their individual effects” originally referred to a belief posited by Melanchthon (for those of you who care) that both man and God work together to achieve the regeneration of the soul. The regeneration of spiritual life is not too far off as an illustration of the current meaning where the effect is greater than the sum of the parts.
One of my favorite names is a homophone of this word: Cinergy was a company formed by the merger of two Cincinnati-area utilities, and the resultant name was greater than the sum of the two former names, Cincinnati Gas and Electric and PSI Energy. In 1996 they purchased the naming rights to what had been known as Riverfront Stadium (where the Reds and Bengals used to play), and named it Cinergy Field.
Coincidentally, the same year that the stadium was demolished Cinergy was acquired by Duke Energy. While I like the name Cinergy, the new Reds venue has a great name: Great American Ballpark (naming rights purchased by Great America amusement parks). If you have to grant naming rights, I can’t imagine a better one than that one.
So remember symbiosis and synergy on what may be the 40th anniversary (there are differing accounts) of the penning by Paul Stookey of the words:
Originally used in English in the 1620s to refer to communal or social life, symbiosis somewhat disappeared from English common usage for centuries. Then, in 1877 a scientist named Dr. Brandt used the word in reference to describing a mutually beneficial association in the vegetable kingdom. (If you REALLY want to know everything you can about the concept of symbiosis, read www.drbilllong.com/More2006/Symbiosis.html. Dr. Long has an interesting take on the Wikipedia blurb giving six categories of symbiosis.) The word came from Middle Latin, which took it from the Greek word with the same spelling. It meant “a living together” in contradistinction to parasitism. Technically, then, symbiosis refers to a living together that is not parasitic in nature. It does not have negative implications, but need not have positive ones (win-win) either, as I’ve seen it used.
Dr. Long makes reference to the word symbiont, which I’d not heard before; its definition is “an organism living in a state of symbiosis”. It’s a good word to add to your vocabulary.
Synergy has a more active meaning to it than symbiosis. It means “combined or cooperative action or force.” In 1660 the word synergy came to English through Modern Latin (synergia) from Greek (synergia, which means “joint work, assistance, help.”) This common word has a less-common theological relative, synergism, which is actually three years older. Synergism, which now has a meaning of “the simultaneous action of separate agencies which, together, have greater total effect than the sum of their individual effects” originally referred to a belief posited by Melanchthon (for those of you who care) that both man and God work together to achieve the regeneration of the soul. The regeneration of spiritual life is not too far off as an illustration of the current meaning where the effect is greater than the sum of the parts.
One of my favorite names is a homophone of this word: Cinergy was a company formed by the merger of two Cincinnati-area utilities, and the resultant name was greater than the sum of the two former names, Cincinnati Gas and Electric and PSI Energy. In 1996 they purchased the naming rights to what had been known as Riverfront Stadium (where the Reds and Bengals used to play), and named it Cinergy Field.
Coincidentally, the same year that the stadium was demolished Cinergy was acquired by Duke Energy. While I like the name Cinergy, the new Reds venue has a great name: Great American Ballpark (naming rights purchased by Great America amusement parks). If you have to grant naming rights, I can’t imagine a better one than that one.
So remember symbiosis and synergy on what may be the 40th anniversary (there are differing accounts) of the penning by Paul Stookey of the words:
The union of your spirits, here, has caused Him to remain
For wherever two or more of you are gathered in His name
There is love, there is love....
Sunday, May 23, 2010
What does Lady Gaga have to do with senility?
Okay, so I missed Wednesday. But I had a good excuse: my brothers were visiting and we celebrated my father’s 90th birthday. His superannuation (that’s an extra, it’s not part of today’s post – explanation and etymology of that word shouldn’t be necessary) deserved undistracted celebration, so I didn’t get to posting.
Speaking of superannuation, however, there are several words that come to mind that are worth giving attention related to age, and the path that we will wend is worth the wait.
Senescent, which is an adjective that means growing old, is an old word. First used in 1656, it comes from the Latin word scenescens, which is the present participle of senescere, which means to grow old.
The Latin word senescere came from the Latin word senex, which means “old”. The comparative form of senex is, in Latin, senior. Obviously, our word senior is a direct transfer and came to English in the late 13th century. At that time it had only one use, and it was one that it still retains. The word was adopted into English to differentiate between a father and son who had the same name. We still use it in that sense (e.g., Ken Griffey, Sr.). In about 1510 another meaning was given to the word, as it was adapted to also refer to someone who has a higher rank or longer service (the senior Senator from…) It wasn’t until 1741 that a fourth-year student was referred to as a “Senior”, although advanced students were given the designation as early as the 1610s. Not much changed with the definitions until 1938, when taxes and California (what’s new?) spawned serious discussion about providing support to older Californians and coined the phrase “Senior Citizen”.
Speaking of senior Senators, the word senate was the first word to come to English from senex. Around 1200 the word came to English from the Old French word senat, which was formed from the Latin word senatus, which meant “council of elders”. It was several centuries later, though, that it became attached to governmental bodies.
There’s one other English word that has come from senex, through French: senile. The French word senile was derived from the Latin senilis, which is the adjective form of senex. In 1661 it simply meant suited to old age. It wasn’t until 1848 that it gained any sense of infirmity or weakness related to aging. One more thought: the French word for senile (and foolish) is gaga. We have adapted the foolish meaning to mean crazy or silly (in 1905) and by now the added meaning of “wide-eyed” has attached itself to that word. What any of that has to do with Lady Gaga is for someone else to discern.
The root word senex has homophonic counterparts that mean “old” in many languages: in Sanskrit the word for old is sanah; in Lithuanian it is senas, in Old Irish sen, in Old Norse sina.
If you want to read more on the subject, including euphemisms for aging, I encourage you to read http://www.theseniortimes.com/richler.htm.
Speaking of superannuation, however, there are several words that come to mind that are worth giving attention related to age, and the path that we will wend is worth the wait.
Senescent, which is an adjective that means growing old, is an old word. First used in 1656, it comes from the Latin word scenescens, which is the present participle of senescere, which means to grow old.
The Latin word senescere came from the Latin word senex, which means “old”. The comparative form of senex is, in Latin, senior. Obviously, our word senior is a direct transfer and came to English in the late 13th century. At that time it had only one use, and it was one that it still retains. The word was adopted into English to differentiate between a father and son who had the same name. We still use it in that sense (e.g., Ken Griffey, Sr.). In about 1510 another meaning was given to the word, as it was adapted to also refer to someone who has a higher rank or longer service (the senior Senator from…) It wasn’t until 1741 that a fourth-year student was referred to as a “Senior”, although advanced students were given the designation as early as the 1610s. Not much changed with the definitions until 1938, when taxes and California (what’s new?) spawned serious discussion about providing support to older Californians and coined the phrase “Senior Citizen”.
Speaking of senior Senators, the word senate was the first word to come to English from senex. Around 1200 the word came to English from the Old French word senat, which was formed from the Latin word senatus, which meant “council of elders”. It was several centuries later, though, that it became attached to governmental bodies.
There’s one other English word that has come from senex, through French: senile. The French word senile was derived from the Latin senilis, which is the adjective form of senex. In 1661 it simply meant suited to old age. It wasn’t until 1848 that it gained any sense of infirmity or weakness related to aging. One more thought: the French word for senile (and foolish) is gaga. We have adapted the foolish meaning to mean crazy or silly (in 1905) and by now the added meaning of “wide-eyed” has attached itself to that word. What any of that has to do with Lady Gaga is for someone else to discern.
The root word senex has homophonic counterparts that mean “old” in many languages: in Sanskrit the word for old is sanah; in Lithuanian it is senas, in Old Irish sen, in Old Norse sina.
If you want to read more on the subject, including euphemisms for aging, I encourage you to read http://www.theseniortimes.com/richler.htm.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Nothing Nefarious about Multifarious
I ran across the word multifarious recently, which necessitated a trip to the dictionary since I had never seen the word before and the context didn’t give me only one possible meaning (or approximate the meaning).
I wondered, does it have any similarity to the more familiar word nefarious? Do they have the same root word?
Well, I only checked the meaning and went back to my reading. Today let’s look at the two and see if they only sound alike but otherwise have no similar ancestry.
Multifarious comes from the Latin multifarius, which is from multifariam and means having many kinds of parts or elements, of great variety, diverse, manifold. Multi-, as you would expect, means many, and farius comes from facere, meaning to make, according to my dictionary. But etymonline.com suggests the root is not farius/facere but fariam, which means parts. The online reference is the one I find more convincing, and probably represents a more current educational perspective. But can’t you see a Latin brouhaha at the etymology convention over this discrepancy? The word dates from the 1590s.
Brouhaha, on the other hand, has some certainty and a much more interesting etymology. It is a French word meaning a noisy stir or “wrangle” – that’s what it says in my dictionary! It has been used by the French since 1552, and according to etymonline.com was “said by Gamillscheg to have been, in medieval theater, ‘the cry of the devil disguised as clergy.’” Maybe I should hold off on the reference to Wednesday… It’s possible it came from the Hebrew barukh habba, which of course you recognize as being from Psalms 118, where it says “blessed be the one who comes.” I like that sense better.
Back to our original words. Nefarious also comes from the Latin at about the same time (although multifarious precedes nefarious by about 10 years). The Latin word is nefarius, and is developed from the word nefas, which means crime or wrong or impiety. Nefas is formed from ne- (a negative prefix) and fas, the Latin word for right, lawful, or divinely spoken. It now means very wicked, villainous or iniquitous. Most of the usages I’ve encountered have a sense of plotting to them, so villainous comes the closest to my understanding.
No matter which side you take in the great multifarious debate, both multifarious and nefarious have different ancestry. But, because of the way Latin conjugated words, the endings come to English looking very similar.
I wondered, does it have any similarity to the more familiar word nefarious? Do they have the same root word?
Well, I only checked the meaning and went back to my reading. Today let’s look at the two and see if they only sound alike but otherwise have no similar ancestry.
Multifarious comes from the Latin multifarius, which is from multifariam and means having many kinds of parts or elements, of great variety, diverse, manifold. Multi-, as you would expect, means many, and farius comes from facere, meaning to make, according to my dictionary. But etymonline.com suggests the root is not farius/facere but fariam, which means parts. The online reference is the one I find more convincing, and probably represents a more current educational perspective. But can’t you see a Latin brouhaha at the etymology convention over this discrepancy? The word dates from the 1590s.
Brouhaha, on the other hand, has some certainty and a much more interesting etymology. It is a French word meaning a noisy stir or “wrangle” – that’s what it says in my dictionary! It has been used by the French since 1552, and according to etymonline.com was “said by Gamillscheg to have been, in medieval theater, ‘the cry of the devil disguised as clergy.’” Maybe I should hold off on the reference to Wednesday… It’s possible it came from the Hebrew barukh habba, which of course you recognize as being from Psalms 118, where it says “blessed be the one who comes.” I like that sense better.
Back to our original words. Nefarious also comes from the Latin at about the same time (although multifarious precedes nefarious by about 10 years). The Latin word is nefarius, and is developed from the word nefas, which means crime or wrong or impiety. Nefas is formed from ne- (a negative prefix) and fas, the Latin word for right, lawful, or divinely spoken. It now means very wicked, villainous or iniquitous. Most of the usages I’ve encountered have a sense of plotting to them, so villainous comes the closest to my understanding.
No matter which side you take in the great multifarious debate, both multifarious and nefarious have different ancestry. But, because of the way Latin conjugated words, the endings come to English looking very similar.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
BFF Just Doesn't Suffice
For the second time I came to a paragraph in my dictionary that elucidates the difference between similar words. I was looking up amicable and amiable, and at the end of the entry for amicable was this paragraph:
Amiable and affable suggest suggest qualities of friendliness, easy temper, etc. that make one likeable, affable also implying a readiness to be approached, to converse, etc.; a good-natured person is one who is disposed to like as well as be like and is sometimes easily imposed on; obliging implies a ready, almost cheerful desire to be helpful [the obliging clerk took my order]; genial suggests good cheer and sociability [our genial host]; cordial suggests graciousness and warmth.
The paragraph doesn’t tell the shade of difference between amicable and amiable. In common usage I’ve noticed that amiable is friendlier than amicable, which has a sense of agreed upon friendliness in the midst of discord that amiable doesn’t infer.
Sometimes you get two words with slightly different meanings from the same root word because of the path that they took to get to English. Amicable and amiable are two of those words. They both come from the Latin root word amicabilis, which means friendly. Amicable obviously came directly from Late Latin, while amiable had a more circuitous path. Interestingly, amicable arrived in the 1530s, while amiable arrived in the mid-14th century.
Amiable’s path came through the Old French and Middle English. What’s interesting is that one of my sources indicates that it was confused in Old French with amable, which means loveable, which resulted in this formation. In addition to these two words, the Latin source has given us the name Amy.
Obliging was formed in the 1630s as a form of the word oblige, which had been around since the 1300s. It originally meant to bind by oath, and came from the Old French obligier, which came from the Latin obligare which was formed from ob-“to” and ligare “to bind.” It took its “modern” meaning of “to make someone indebted by conferring a benefit or kindness” in the 1560s.
Genial is also from the 1560s, having arrived directly from the Late Latin genialis, meaning “pleasant, festive” although it literally pertained to marriage rites. Its current meaning of cheerful and friendly was first recorded in 1746 and is listed in my dictionary as the third definition, after the original (related to marriage or procreation) and “promoting life and growth.” How nice it would be to have the older definition to add to our spectrum of words; if common usage was that genial meant promoting life and growth our language would be a little richer.
Cordial comes directly from a late 14th century Middle French word, which came from the Middle Latin word cordialis, “of or for the heart”. Originally the word was used of medicine, food or drink that is meant to stimulate the heart, and some drinks retain that meaning. The adjectival meaning formed in the late 15th century, and retains the sense of “heartfelt, from the heart.”
Amiable and affable suggest suggest qualities of friendliness, easy temper, etc. that make one likeable, affable also implying a readiness to be approached, to converse, etc.; a good-natured person is one who is disposed to like as well as be like and is sometimes easily imposed on; obliging implies a ready, almost cheerful desire to be helpful [the obliging clerk took my order]; genial suggests good cheer and sociability [our genial host]; cordial suggests graciousness and warmth.
The paragraph doesn’t tell the shade of difference between amicable and amiable. In common usage I’ve noticed that amiable is friendlier than amicable, which has a sense of agreed upon friendliness in the midst of discord that amiable doesn’t infer.
Sometimes you get two words with slightly different meanings from the same root word because of the path that they took to get to English. Amicable and amiable are two of those words. They both come from the Latin root word amicabilis, which means friendly. Amicable obviously came directly from Late Latin, while amiable had a more circuitous path. Interestingly, amicable arrived in the 1530s, while amiable arrived in the mid-14th century.
Amiable’s path came through the Old French and Middle English. What’s interesting is that one of my sources indicates that it was confused in Old French with amable, which means loveable, which resulted in this formation. In addition to these two words, the Latin source has given us the name Amy.
Obliging was formed in the 1630s as a form of the word oblige, which had been around since the 1300s. It originally meant to bind by oath, and came from the Old French obligier, which came from the Latin obligare which was formed from ob-“to” and ligare “to bind.” It took its “modern” meaning of “to make someone indebted by conferring a benefit or kindness” in the 1560s.
Genial is also from the 1560s, having arrived directly from the Late Latin genialis, meaning “pleasant, festive” although it literally pertained to marriage rites. Its current meaning of cheerful and friendly was first recorded in 1746 and is listed in my dictionary as the third definition, after the original (related to marriage or procreation) and “promoting life and growth.” How nice it would be to have the older definition to add to our spectrum of words; if common usage was that genial meant promoting life and growth our language would be a little richer.
Cordial comes directly from a late 14th century Middle French word, which came from the Middle Latin word cordialis, “of or for the heart”. Originally the word was used of medicine, food or drink that is meant to stimulate the heart, and some drinks retain that meaning. The adjectival meaning formed in the late 15th century, and retains the sense of “heartfelt, from the heart.”
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Happy Mother's Day
There are some things in life that, while longstanding traditions, should never become passé or an anachronism. Mother’s Day is one of those things.
An anachronism is something that is out of date, or out of harmony with the present, something that seems more appropriate to another period in time. It comes through Latin (anachronismus) from the Greek word anachronismos, which is formed from ana- (meaning against) and khronos (meaning time). It is first used in English in the 1640s but took its current meaning in 1816.
Something that is passé is old-fashioned or out of date. Coming directly from the French, the word means faded in French, and was in 1775 used to refer to a woman who had passed the period of greatest beauty. Only the French would have a word for that. A mother's beauty never fades.
Mothers never become anachronistic or passé. Their imprecations on behalf of their children are anodyne and cause most problems to deliquesce.
Imprecations came to English in the 15th Century from Latin; mothers were often in church imprecating for their children, praying, asking, sometimes even begging. The Latin word impreccari is formed from in- (within) and precari (to pray, beg or request). Mothers are known for their imprecations for their children.
A mother’s kiss is well-known to be anodyne. In the 1540s the Middle Latin word anodynus came to English. Again the Latin (anodynus) took directly from the Greek anodynos, which was formed from an- (again meaning without or against) and odyne (meaning pain). There is an anodyne miracle in a mother’s kiss of a scraped knee or bruised feelings.
Problems seem to deliquesce, or melt away, in the arms of a mother. While deliquesce comes to us from science, science has not been able to reproduce the recondite effects of a mother’s care. Deliquesce comes from the Latin word deliquere, which is formed from their word for liquid: liquere, with the de- meaning un. It was used in chemistry in 1756 and developed its general meaning in 1858.
Recondite is defined as beyond the grasp of the ordinary mind or understanding; profound. This “good word” has meant what it means in English since 1649, when it was adopted from the Latin reconditus, the past participle of recondere, which meant store away. Recondere is formed from re- (away, back) and condere (to store, hide, or put together). Condere is formed from con- (together) and dere (to put or place).
A mother’s anodyne imprecations may cause cares to deliquesce in a recondite manner, but are never passé or an anachronism. At least I hope they never become so.
Happy Mother’s Day.
An anachronism is something that is out of date, or out of harmony with the present, something that seems more appropriate to another period in time. It comes through Latin (anachronismus) from the Greek word anachronismos, which is formed from ana- (meaning against) and khronos (meaning time). It is first used in English in the 1640s but took its current meaning in 1816.
Something that is passé is old-fashioned or out of date. Coming directly from the French, the word means faded in French, and was in 1775 used to refer to a woman who had passed the period of greatest beauty. Only the French would have a word for that. A mother's beauty never fades.
Mothers never become anachronistic or passé. Their imprecations on behalf of their children are anodyne and cause most problems to deliquesce.
Imprecations came to English in the 15th Century from Latin; mothers were often in church imprecating for their children, praying, asking, sometimes even begging. The Latin word impreccari is formed from in- (within) and precari (to pray, beg or request). Mothers are known for their imprecations for their children.
A mother’s kiss is well-known to be anodyne. In the 1540s the Middle Latin word anodynus came to English. Again the Latin (anodynus) took directly from the Greek anodynos, which was formed from an- (again meaning without or against) and odyne (meaning pain). There is an anodyne miracle in a mother’s kiss of a scraped knee or bruised feelings.
Problems seem to deliquesce, or melt away, in the arms of a mother. While deliquesce comes to us from science, science has not been able to reproduce the recondite effects of a mother’s care. Deliquesce comes from the Latin word deliquere, which is formed from their word for liquid: liquere, with the de- meaning un. It was used in chemistry in 1756 and developed its general meaning in 1858.
Recondite is defined as beyond the grasp of the ordinary mind or understanding; profound. This “good word” has meant what it means in English since 1649, when it was adopted from the Latin reconditus, the past participle of recondere, which meant store away. Recondere is formed from re- (away, back) and condere (to store, hide, or put together). Condere is formed from con- (together) and dere (to put or place).
A mother’s anodyne imprecations may cause cares to deliquesce in a recondite manner, but are never passé or an anachronism. At least I hope they never become so.
Happy Mother’s Day.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
I'm going cracy
Some words are more obscure than others, and are made more so by a variety of spellings. Our first word today fits this category: cackistocracy or kakistocracy. I provide the spellings in that order because my first encounter with the word was in the former spelling, although the latter seems to be both the accepted spelling and the American spelling. The only “cack-” spellings I found were on United Kingdom sites.
My home dictionary (The New World Dictionary of the American Language, Second College Edition, 1980, William Collins Publishers, Inc.) does not contain the word in any spelling. Neither does my main source of etmology (etymonline.com).
The crust hardcore band formed in 1997 took this word as its name. According to answers.com, kakistocracy is a noun that means government by the least qualified or most unprincipled citizens. It comes from the Greek word kakistos, which combines kakos, meaning bad and -cracy meaning government (Wikipedia says kratia, meaning power, rule, government).
My GoodSearch (which benefits Sierra Vista $ .01 each time I use it) found 7147 results for the kakistocracy spelling, including kakistocracy.net which takes you to a photo of President Obama. If you’re upset by that, try kakistocracy.org and click on the “Home” key to find a photo of President Bush. Kakistocracy is what you make of it.
The second word today is plutocracy, which isn’t about animated dogs ruling us. Ploutos in Green means wealth, so a plutocracy is government by the wealthy. There are more than a few people who feel this better describes our government in 2010.
Other –ocracies that are more familiar are bureaucracy, democracy, meritocracy, and autocracy.
New –ocracies are being formed every day with the expansion of cyberocracy. Do-ocracy is growing in use, and is defined as a summary term for consensus management on a non-authoritarian, classical anarchist model emphasizing voluntary involvement and actual results, where those with an actual involvement make the decisions.
For a good list of –ocracies, go to virtuallinguist.typepad.com and read the April 20 blog.
It is interesting that we refer to American governments or forms of democracy by using the –ocracy label, much as we’ve taken since Watergate to refer to government scandals by adding –gate to the subject of the scandal (remember travel-gate in the Clinton presidency?).
The other suffix in use to describe governments is –archy, which is the Greek word for “rule”. Most people know anarchy (the absence of anyone ruling), monarchy (one-person rule), and many know oligarchy (rule by a few).
But when it comes to creating new words, -ocracy has it all over –archy for creativity. Make one yourself. After all, this isn’t a larryarchy.
My home dictionary (The New World Dictionary of the American Language, Second College Edition, 1980, William Collins Publishers, Inc.) does not contain the word in any spelling. Neither does my main source of etmology (etymonline.com).
The crust hardcore band formed in 1997 took this word as its name. According to answers.com, kakistocracy is a noun that means government by the least qualified or most unprincipled citizens. It comes from the Greek word kakistos, which combines kakos, meaning bad and -cracy meaning government (Wikipedia says kratia, meaning power, rule, government).
My GoodSearch (which benefits Sierra Vista $ .01 each time I use it) found 7147 results for the kakistocracy spelling, including kakistocracy.net which takes you to a photo of President Obama. If you’re upset by that, try kakistocracy.org and click on the “Home” key to find a photo of President Bush. Kakistocracy is what you make of it.
The second word today is plutocracy, which isn’t about animated dogs ruling us. Ploutos in Green means wealth, so a plutocracy is government by the wealthy. There are more than a few people who feel this better describes our government in 2010.
Other –ocracies that are more familiar are bureaucracy, democracy, meritocracy, and autocracy.
New –ocracies are being formed every day with the expansion of cyberocracy. Do-ocracy is growing in use, and is defined as a summary term for consensus management on a non-authoritarian, classical anarchist model emphasizing voluntary involvement and actual results, where those with an actual involvement make the decisions.
For a good list of –ocracies, go to virtuallinguist.typepad.com and read the April 20 blog.
It is interesting that we refer to American governments or forms of democracy by using the –ocracy label, much as we’ve taken since Watergate to refer to government scandals by adding –gate to the subject of the scandal (remember travel-gate in the Clinton presidency?).
The other suffix in use to describe governments is –archy, which is the Greek word for “rule”. Most people know anarchy (the absence of anyone ruling), monarchy (one-person rule), and many know oligarchy (rule by a few).
But when it comes to creating new words, -ocracy has it all over –archy for creativity. Make one yourself. After all, this isn’t a larryarchy.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
The long and the short of it
Today we have a long blog about short expressions. Let’s start with pericope, from the Greek word perikope which meant a cutting all around, and refers to a passage, usually short, “cut” from a written work. My spell-check says periscope. Best to only use the word when speaking, even though it refers exclusively to writing. My dictionary says “especially same as lection”.
Lection is a noun referring to “the version in a particular text in a certain passage”, but also meaning “(see pericope) a part of the Scriptures read in church service”. A lection is what’s read from the lecturn (see 4/11).
An apothegm, on the other hand, is a short pithy saying, rather than a short, pithy writing sample. Apothegm is pronounced AP- eh – them; I know you mathematicians are thinking “that sounds like the word for the perpendicular from the center of a polygon to any of its sides. You’re right, it’s a homonym, but comes from other Greek words and doesn’t have the letter g. Apothegm comes from the Greek word for a terse, pointed saying, which I’m sure you know is apophthegma and is a form of the word apophthengesthai. It won’t surprise you to know that apophthengesthai is a combination of apo- (from) and phthengesthai (cry out or utter, which is what you would prefer to do rather than try to pronounce it). It can also be spelled apophthegm, but why would you want to?
Adage, which comes to us through the French from the Latin adagio, refers to an old saying that has been popularly accepted as the truth. The Latin word comes from ad- meaning “to” and aio meaning “say”. (It apparently took the g that was left over from apothem.) For those versed in Italian or musician, you would be familiar with the Italian word adagio, which comes from the Latin words ad- and agio (meaning ease). In music it refers to a tempo that is an easy walking pace. Two Latin words spelled the same meaning different things. Gotta know your roots.
A maxim is a concisely expressed principle or rule of conduct, or a statement of a general truth. It comes to English in 1426 through Middle English (maxime) from Middle French which got it from Middle Latin (maxima) which got it from the Late Latin word spelled the same, which is the feminine form of maximus, meaning greatest.
An aphorism is a short, concise statement of a principle or a short, pointed sentence expressing a wise or clever observation or a general truth. It can be a synonym for adage or maxim, but is more general. It comes through French (aphorisme) from Greek (aphorismos from aphorizein which means to divide or mark off.) A famous work in the 1520s (you may remember) was the “Aphorisms of Hippocrates”, which hasn’t been on the best-seller list since. But it was popular enough to give us this word.
“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times” is a pericope; “carpe diem” is an aphorism; “a stitch in time saves nine” is an adage; “brevity is the soul of wit” is an apothegm; and “birds of a feather flock together” and “opposites attract” are dueling maxims. That should clear things up.
Lection is a noun referring to “the version in a particular text in a certain passage”, but also meaning “(see pericope) a part of the Scriptures read in church service”. A lection is what’s read from the lecturn (see 4/11).
An apothegm, on the other hand, is a short pithy saying, rather than a short, pithy writing sample. Apothegm is pronounced AP- eh – them; I know you mathematicians are thinking “that sounds like the word for the perpendicular from the center of a polygon to any of its sides. You’re right, it’s a homonym, but comes from other Greek words and doesn’t have the letter g. Apothegm comes from the Greek word for a terse, pointed saying, which I’m sure you know is apophthegma and is a form of the word apophthengesthai. It won’t surprise you to know that apophthengesthai is a combination of apo- (from) and phthengesthai (cry out or utter, which is what you would prefer to do rather than try to pronounce it). It can also be spelled apophthegm, but why would you want to?
Adage, which comes to us through the French from the Latin adagio, refers to an old saying that has been popularly accepted as the truth. The Latin word comes from ad- meaning “to” and aio meaning “say”. (It apparently took the g that was left over from apothem.) For those versed in Italian or musician, you would be familiar with the Italian word adagio, which comes from the Latin words ad- and agio (meaning ease). In music it refers to a tempo that is an easy walking pace. Two Latin words spelled the same meaning different things. Gotta know your roots.
A maxim is a concisely expressed principle or rule of conduct, or a statement of a general truth. It comes to English in 1426 through Middle English (maxime) from Middle French which got it from Middle Latin (maxima) which got it from the Late Latin word spelled the same, which is the feminine form of maximus, meaning greatest.
An aphorism is a short, concise statement of a principle or a short, pointed sentence expressing a wise or clever observation or a general truth. It can be a synonym for adage or maxim, but is more general. It comes through French (aphorisme) from Greek (aphorismos from aphorizein which means to divide or mark off.) A famous work in the 1520s (you may remember) was the “Aphorisms of Hippocrates”, which hasn’t been on the best-seller list since. But it was popular enough to give us this word.
“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times” is a pericope; “carpe diem” is an aphorism; “a stitch in time saves nine” is an adage; “brevity is the soul of wit” is an apothegm; and “birds of a feather flock together” and “opposites attract” are dueling maxims. That should clear things up.
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